


Call It Magic

by ArtsyAfrodite



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Angels, Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Angels, Gallavich, Guardian Angels, Guardian Ian, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, angel!ian, hope i did, just trying to tag everything right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 10:16:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2306087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtsyAfrodite/pseuds/ArtsyAfrodite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>guard•i•an an•gel<br/>noun: guardian angel; plural noun: guardian angels<br/>1.	an angel believed to protect a particular person, as from danger or error.<br/>2.	a person who looks after or is concerned with the welfare of another.</p>
<p>Ian's just a Guardian Angel hoping to catch a break from the grueling schedule his assignment has him on.  Mickey's just a Southside thug who seems to have a lot of luck when it comes to escaping danger, even death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired mainly by the song, "Magic" by Coldplay (the title is a line from the song). Every time I listen to this song, for some reason, I develop a scenario in my head where a Guardian Angel falls in love with who they're protecting. I couldn't shake it, so I wrote it. Hope you like it. :)

“Ian!  You’re up – _again_.”

A celestial groan leaves Ian’s mouth, resounding through the heavens as he trudges forward, the gleaming marble beneath his bare feet warm.  His voice has probably just caused a group of songbirds to sing, or if it’s night – and he can’t be so sure given he’s been working around the clock it seems – a star’s probably just twinkled.  At this point, who knows?

“Again Marcel?” Ian asks derisively as he tugs at the hem of his pristine, white shirt.  He frowns as he looks down at how his pants are just as white, glowing, and just put on not too long ago.  “What time is it?”

Crossing his arms, the white-haired gentleman raises a brow at the young man.  “Earth time, or our time?” he asks.

Ian lets out a sigh as he runs his alabaster hands through his golden-red hair.  “Yes, Earth time Marcel,” he huffs.  The keeper’s being sarcastic – he knows good and well there is no time-space continuum where they are.

Marcel smiles slyly before pulling out a shining, gold and jewel encrusted watch hanging from a platinum chain, out of his white robe.  “According to my handy dandy, Earth-time Rolex, special galactic edition, courtesy of the Big Guy,” he gloats as he wiggles his bushy eyebrows, “it is exactly 2:15am, Central Standard Time in Chicago, Illinois, uhh…Southside to be exact.”

Ian rolls his eyes all the way to the back of his skull.  “Goodness doesn’t this guy sleep?!” he practically yells, causing a host behind him to stop their current tasks.  He gets even more annoyed, because he isn’t supposed to be on shift right now.  He should be doing something called catching a break.  But no – instead here he is, about to put in work again.  Calming himself, Ian closes his eyes.  _Breathe in, breathe out._   Desperate he asks, “Can’t you send Philip?  He’s free and hasn’t put in work for God knows how long.”

“Yes, He certainly does know how long,” Marcel quips as he casts his eyes upward.  And Ian’s about had it.  “But you know that’s against the rules Ian.”

“But I’m tired!  We do get tired you know, and I just got all of my light back.”

“Lower your voice,” Marcel counters as he pulls inquisitively at his long, white beard.  He then casts his eyes upward to look through the see-through, crystal ceiling towards the sky where the sun, moon and stars exist simultaneously.  He pauses as if thinking for a moment before looking back at a very disgruntled Ian.  “Mickey Milkovich is your assignment, no exceptions, switching, or any of that.”

“I can’t seem to catch a moment around here,” Ian sighs.

“Yes, well, he’s an interesting character, this Mickey.  So…animated.” 

“You mean a trouble maker.”

“Well now that conclusion,” the older man counters, “is subjective.  Nevertheless, he’s yours.”  Marcel then holds up a large scroll containing a bunch of names, blocking his view of Ian.  He peers around with that same smile, to catch the red head rolling his eyes yet again.  “You should be thankful you get all this action young lamb,” Marcel says as he peers over his gold-framed glasses, “some of us around here would give our feathers for one day where you’re going.”

“Yeah I know, but – “

“No more back talk Ian,” Marcel gently cuts him off.  “Unfortunately, your assignment is in trouble, again, and he needs you.  But as if you didn’t know that.  You do after all, watch over him.”

Marcel has a point.  Resigning to the fact that he’s about to take another trip, Ian sinks within himself as he casts his green eyes towards the ceiling, hoping he’ll catch a break, a breath – heck, a blink would do.  “I’m all for being there for mankind, but this guy…” he trails off before letting out a sigh.  This time however, there’s a hint of endearment behind it, earning him a smirk from Philip who was apparently watching everything go down just now.

“Way to throw me under the chariot,” Philip huffs.  “I don’t put in work?  And trying to send me in your place?  Nice one Ian.” 

“Don’t get your barbs in a bunch,” Ian bites, “I _would_ like a moment, and he’s _always_ in trouble, that’s all,” Ian says to his brother.

“Such a complainer,” Philip says with his arms crossed.  “You know you like going down there every time anyway.  Everyone knows you’re rather fond of this Mickey.”

“Whatever,” Ian huffs as he makes his way towards departures.  He first goes over towards wardrobe supplies and grabs some normal clothing – a pair of boots, jeans that don’t glow, a green t-shirt and a hoodie.  He makes his way into a changing station, Philip outside of the satin, white curtain.

“Just remember,” his brother starts, “don’t get too caught up and let him see you too many times.  He’ll catch on and may think you’re a stalker or something.  You don’t want to have to explain what you really are, being we can’t lie and all.”

“This isn’t my first time at the rodeo Lip,” Ian bites as he steps out, fully changed.

“I know, but you remember what happened last time, don’t you?”  Ian lowers his head slightly before glancing back up at his older brother.  He was right.  He was always right.  Last time, Ian almost put himself in a position where he wouldn’t have been able to return home, his assignment pulling him in ways where gravity became almost impossible to fight.  “You and your silent devotion to this guy, I swear.  You almost lost all of your light,” Lip continues to remind him, “so just keep in mind you have seven days before you have to get your feathers back here.”

“He certainly loves the number seven, doesn’t He,” Ian says just as Lip places his hand on his shoulder.

Looking upwards, his brother smiles just as his own light gets a little brighter, releasing a stellar, “He certainly does.  It’s completion.”

Despite getting on his last nerve sometimes, Ian knew Lip was only looking out for him.  Too many times they’d lost others, some by accident and others by choice.  The ones who got too caught up in the things of the world and lost track of time was never shocking to Ian, but it was the other side of the coin that made him question the very wings on his back.  Being a Guardian Angel was hard sometimes, but it was a gift, so whenever Ian heard of his brother or sister Angels choosing an Earthly existence, he never quite understood why they would choose mortality over an eternity in paradise they didn’t have to scrape through life for. 

They’d already lost their sister Fiona – the most beautiful Angel Ian had ever seen and known, her heart gripped too tight in the hands of the one she was called to protect until she gave in and stayed with the guy.  Returning for her wasn’t an option after too many trips down.  She’d revealed herself and essentially fell.  Ian remembers the day she made that call – his heart sank into his stomach.  Philip always told him even as Angels, their hearts were intricate vessels full of mystery and delicacies even they didn’t quite understand.  As a young Angel, Ian always found this foreign, but the more he visited Earth to defend his assignment, he felt maybe he was beginning to understand.

Philip called it the “pull.”  God simply called it _love_.

“Alright Ian,” Lip says as he walks him to where he’ll be making his drop, “Remember your wings will dissolve into your back – “

“Yeah, yeah, I know, goodness,” Ian cuts him off gently with a smile, “my wings will dissolve into my back once I hit Earth and they’ll reemerge when I truly need them, yada yada, and all that jazz.  Like I said Lip, not my first rodeo.”

“Just making sure,” Lip offers as he throws his hands up in surrender.  But just as he backs away from Ian, he notices him shake his head slightly from side to side.  He squints his eyes at his younger brother, breathing out a, “What is it?” as he studies the way his green eyes suddenly look askance across the world below.

“It’s just…” Ian trails off as he turns to face Lip.  “It seems like Mickey’s always looking for trouble, only for me to be sent to his rescue every time.  I just wonder about that sometimes.”

Casting his eyes upward again, Lip stills himself in the light shining through the crystal ceiling, his eyes closing as it appears he’s listening to that whisper unique to each of them.  A chuckle escapes his chest as he focuses his attention back on Ian.  “Our Father says you can’t look for what always finds you Ian,” Lip says with a confidence lent only from upstairs, “some people’s hands are just dealt that way.  And according to Him, this guy’s heart is one of the biggest and most altruistic he’s ever seen, despite any stigma behind his family name.”

“Guess he can’t help where he’s from,” Ian resigns as he turns to make his departure.

“And Ian,” Lip calls before he goes, earning a side glance over his shoulder, “don’t forget about the clock.  If you miss it – consider yourself officially _Fallen_.”

Not needing for his brother to elaborate, Ian nods and makes his drop towards the world he knows all too well, and towards one Southside boy he knows even better.

////

The entry always hurts like hell – no pun intended. 

Ian winces as he stands and looks at his surroundings.  He’s in that all too familiar alleyway, the stench of empty whisky bottles, urine and more than the occasional vagabond tickling his nose.  Despite visiting these parts often, the smell of the Southside alleyways is something that always takes getting used to.  He cracks his neck as he reaches around to caress his now lighter, slightly sore and very empty shoulder blades.  A single, white feather falls to the ground which Ian picks up and studies, the pearl-like luminescence still between the barbs.

“Holy shit!” a scratchy voice looms in the shadows near the dumpster.  “D-did you just – Jesus, Mary and Joseph!  Did you – did my eyes just trick me?!”

Ian sighs as he walks slowly towards the voice.  It’s obvious he’s just been made, his transformation something that’s not supposed to be seen by anyone.  As he inches closer, he notices an older man so dirty his white skin is an ashen color, resembling a miner just out of the depths and covered in soot.  The stench of alcohol strongly radiates off of his skin mixed with not having access to regular bathing.  He’s obviously homeless.  Ian kneels on the cardboard sufficing for the man’s bed and smiles at the way his eyes are as wide as an astonished child’s on Christmas.  “It was your eyes friend,” Ian says calmly.

“But I just – “

“Shhhh,” Ian shushes him, cutting him off gently.  He takes the single feather that fell off of him and places it in the homeless man’s hand.  “It was all a dream,” he says as he lifts his hand and waves it across the homeless man’s face.  A white light trails behind Ian’s hand, and within the blink of an eye, the man falls asleep, feather clutched in his fist.  “When you wake up, you won’t remember anything,” Ian whispers in his ear before standing.  This is only the second time he’s had to do this, the first time being a drug dealer seeing him and threatening to shoot him.  They’re only allowed two times to use the short term memory wipe during a visit, and it can never be used on your assignment.

Ian dusts the dirt off of the knees of his pants as he walks towards the lights on the sidewalk cast from the streetlights.  Just as he nears the end of the alley, he hears that all too familiar voice, booming, slightly nasal and containing a quality that’s undeniably charming.  He decides to pull his hoodie over his red hair, not wanting to draw any attention to himself.  An Angel’s light is always still pretty strong the first hours on earth and it shows through the strands of their hair – the last place it dissipates.  The remaining light stays inside them, fading little by little over the span of seven days, bringing them closer to being human.

Ian’s definitely straddled that line more than a few times.

He finally steps onto the sidewalk, but quickly moves back to obscure himself behind the brick when he catches a glimpse of Mickey Milkovich.  He’s with three other men.  The tall one with the dark hair pulled back into the ponytail is who Ian’s gotten to know over time as Kevin, the owner of the Alibi Room, the bar they’re standing outside of.  He doesn’t recognize the other two, but based off of the matching knuckle tattoos they’re sporting in a phrase unique to each of them, Ian guesses they’re probably Mickey’s brothers.

“See ya tomorrow Kev,” Mickey says as he walks away from the Alibi with the other two guys. 

“Yeah, sure thing Mickey!” Kevin calls out to him as he finishes locking up the bar.

The three guys walk by the alleyway, making Ian slip out of the light a bit more until he can’t be seen.  He lets out a long breath as he looks left – then right – no trouble in sight.  It seems God has sent him down here to be a babysitter, or just a plain stalker, because Mickey seems to be fine and holding his own quite well.  He thought he was in trouble, but from what Ian can see with his angel vision, the black-haired boy is simply sporting a nice buzz from the alcohol he’s just consumed.

Nevertheless, he pulls his hoodie down a bit more, remaining in the shadows as he follows his assignment, but stays close enough behind.  Ian smiles when Mickey shouts something obscene at one of his brothers and smacks him across the back of the head, the untamed and uncalculated way he moves making him remember why he actually enjoys having him as his obligation, despite the overtime.  It’s never a dull moment. 

After about ten minutes of walking, they end up where Ian recognizes as the street the Milkovich household is on.  He remains around the bend and looks up at a fire escape on the side of what appears to be a small, abandoned apartment building on the corner.  He needs to get higher to get a better view.  The fire escape is quite a ways up, so it’s a good thing Ian’s jump is far from the range of a human.  He springs up at least fifteen feet in one jump, hooking his hands onto the black metal bars, hoisting himself up in one pull.  As he crouches and peers across the street through the metal, he notices Terry, Mickey’s father, seemingly intoxicated or high, and arguing with two men in front of his house.  At the sight of the commotion, Mickey and his brothers charge full speed ahead.

It doesn’t take long for fists to start flying, tongues to become blasphemous, and feet to start stomping bodies into the pavement.  Ian girds up his loins as he keeps his eyes zeroed in on Mickey, who once again, is holding his own.

That is until an additional guy emerges out of a car parked across the street, and begins to approach him from behind.  He has something up his sleeve and Ian already knows the deal before the guy can even pull a stunt.  So he prepares himself to do what he does best.

Protect Mickey Milkovich.

////

Mickey stops and raises a tipsy brow at the fiasco taking place in front of his house.  _What the fuck._

“Ayo, who the hell are these assholes causin’ trouble at our fuckin’ doorstep?” Mickey asks Iggy and Colin.  “You see that?  That’s dad right there,” he continues.  Before they can get a word in edgewise, Mickey charges forward, looking over his shoulder and yells out, “Come the fuck on!” at a shocked Iggy and Colin.  The two remain dumb and decide words can wait until later, preparing to instead talk with their fists.

Terry’s pinned against his own fence by some fake Tony Montana looking dude by the time the three boys make it to him.  His nostrils are flared and his eyes are heavily veiled from too much of a certain narcotic – which one, Mickey can’t be so sure – Terry’s temperamental about his poisons.  “You fucks!  Get the fuck from in front of my house!  I’ll kill ya!” Terry yells just as Iggy lands a right hook from behind plumb in the guy’s face.  The man lets out a mad wail just as his crony charges after Colin, who’s already in raging bull mode himself, running towards the guy.

Mickey’s already putting his boot to imitation Tony Montana’s face as Iggy mimics his movements in the guy’s ribs.  Terry’s made a quick comeback, already helping Colin, holding the other guy by his arms as his son lands punch after punch in his face.  “Oh you were just askin’ for a beat down comin’ over here!” Mickey yells as he bends over just enough to where his face is hovering directly above that of the man on the ground.  A muffled sound comes out of the guy’s busted mouth, blood spraying as he seemingly tries to curse Mickey out.

Feeling satisfied, Mickey straightens up and turns just as a loud, “Yo Mickey look out!” escapes Iggy’s mouth.  He turns only to stare down the barrel of a Glock which silently speaks, _prepare to meet your Maker_ , right before the gun claps harshly into the night.  A passing second mimics an eternity, and Mickey’s certain he’s been shot, but something zips by him so quickly, he doesn’t even have a chance to panic or absorb anything. 

Mickey’s a lot of things, but he’s not crazy.  His eyes aren’t the greatest all the time (he’s pretty sure he needs glasses), but he knows what he sees.  Just as the gun goes off, something or _someone_ runs between him and the guy pulling the trigger, and seemingly interjects what should have been imminent death.  Mickey looks to his right in time enough to see what looks like a tall, young male cut sharply around the corner.  He’s moving fast – too fast – it’s almost superhuman.  But Mickey can clearly see before he’s out of view that he has the reddest hair he’s ever seen which seemed to be trailed by some sort of light. It’s like nothing he’s ever seen, but for some reason he has a looming sense of déjà vu.  His head swims with a familiar sensation and he isn’t sure if he’s astonished or freaked out.

The gun falls to the ground as the man screams, holding his hand and crying that it’s been broken.  “My fuckin’ hand!” the guy wails.  “It’s broken!”

“Cry me a fuckin’ river,” Mickey bites as he picks the gun up off of the ground.

“Oh shit!” Colin yells as he runs up to his brother, “did you get hit Mickey?!”

“No,” is all Mickey offers, still quite thunderstruck. 

“Then shoot that motherfucker,” Iggy madly suggests as he eyes the man in pain devilishly. 

But Mickey doesn’t want to shoot the gun at the sonofabitch as much as he wants to examine it – which he does.  It’s not jammed like he thought, and the smell of the gun metal lets him know the gun was shot and a bullet successfully fired.  He instead shoots purposely close the guy’s head on the ground, successfully lodging a bullet in the concrete.  _What the fuck.  Again._  

“Did you all just see that shit?” Mickey finally questions.

“See what?” Iggy asks. 

“That guy that just ran by when this bastard tried to shoot me,” Mickey breathes out, everything starting to sink in.  “It happened so fast.  He ran around the corner.”

Colin and Iggy shoot each other a glance, more than likely contemplating if their brother may have had too many drinks, or if he’s just plain mental – maybe in shock.  “Mickey…” Colin trails off as he scratches at his blonde curls, “there was no one here besides us.”

“But I saw – “

“Fuck what you think you saw!” Terry cuts rudely across him.  “Help me get these fuckers from in front of my house!”

Following their father’s orders, the three boys use their boots to practically kick the men across the street into their car.  They leave a few Milkovich stamps and reminders in the form of dents in the body of the car and a broken rear window as the men zip off.  Who they were, Mickey will never be so sure, but Terry has more enemies than every Southside thug combined. 

As they all make their way into the house, Mickey stays outside on the front steps as he looks down the street towards where the mystery guy ran off.  He knows what he saw.  He does.

////

Ian zips around the corner to get out of plain sight, but something tells him he’s been made.  He’s usually more inconspicuous with the way he does things, but his initial reaction was to just take the bullet for Mickey – no matter the risk.  He moved fast, but not fast enough, and to make matters worse, his hoodie flew off of his head.  His light is still prominent enough to look out of place, ultimately catching someone’s eye.

He pulls his hoodie back over his head as he leans against a wall in another alley and spits the bullet from the gun fired out of his mouth into his hand, watching it turn to ash.  It’s been a while since he’s done the catch the bullet trick.  It takes precise concentration and is something to be proud of, but despite the skill behind the life-saving tactic, it’s risky and can create a real spectacle.

Nevertheless, saving Mickey’s life is always worth it.

Needing shelter, Ian makes his way to the same motel he always checks into when he’s here.  It’s in the sketchiest part of the Southside, tucked tight in the corners where good time girls meet their Johns, and addicts flag down their dealers.  No one pays attention to anyone, too caught up the things of the world and the needful things it provides them.  His heart always bleeds when he passes these individuals.

“You got anything f-for me mannnn,” a young man asks Ian with a sense of urgency, as he makes his way to his room.  He doesn’t say anything to the addict, just simply turns and stares at him.  “C’mon,” the guy begs, “I’m in need here.”

Ian doesn’t respond, just grabs the guy’s hand, which startles him initially.  He gently squeezes around his emaciated fingers as a white light travels out of his fingertips and into the addict’s palm.  The glow quickly runs up the man’s arm and dissipates.  A calmness spreads across his face as his eyes studies Ian’s and the way the green seems brighter than normal, his eyes so much kinder than most.  The question of what just happened settles in the creases of his face, far from old but aged from a hard life.  He releases Ian’s hand, his unrests simultaneously exonerated.

“What you needed,” Ian says softly, “I just gave it to you.”  Without saying anything further, Ian goes into the room, leaving the addict wondering why his palate has suddenly changed, and the craving that was there a minute ago, is now gone.

Ian breathes deeply as he sits on the edge of the motel bed.  Giving someone a piece of his light isn’t something he normally does, but whenever he makes that decision, the way it drains from him always makes him feel a little less divine.  As he removes his hoodie, he stares at himself in the mirror on the wall directly across from the bed.  What he’s just done has diminished the luminescence of his hair quicker than just waiting it out for twenty four hours would have done.  By the time he wakes up, he knows it will be virtually unnoticeable and he’ll look far more normal.

He lays back on the bed, not even bothering to remove any clothing.  He has seven days to stay here on Earth, to follow Mickey around like a shadow.  It’s the same every time he comes, the lurking, the watching – the falling.  He hasn’t even told Philip yet, but the pull is getting harder and harder to fight with each trip.  Nonetheless, Ian knows as long as he keeps his head down and remains inconspicuous enough to ride out his assignment, he should skate through without incident.

But the blue in Mickey’s eyes just before he thought life would be over, somehow tells Ian this trip will be different.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He nearly falls out of the chair, but right before he hits the floor, Mickey’s already there by his side holding him up. This time, he catches Ian. It’s a small feat, but somehow Mickey feels it’s quite significant.

The next day, Ian’s out and about, following Mickey, who’s alone this time.  The dark-haired boy visits his usual haunts, a store called the Kash N Grab, a local smoke shop where he buys tobacco to roll his own cigarettes, then finally to the Alibi.  Apparently he’s in the prostitution business now with the owner Kevin.  Ian finds himself laughing when he reads a makeshift cardboard sign that reads ‘ _Cum this way’_ written whimsically in black sharpie. 

He usually doesn’t follow Mickey into the Alibi, just waits it out as he perches himself atop a nearby rooftop, or fire escape.  But for some reason, he breaks routine and makes a silly decision to go inside, hoodie tight around his face even though he looks normal by now.  He puts himself in a booth way in the back corner of the place, which isn’t that big, so really, he’s asking to be seen.  But Ian finds himself not really minding that possibility. 

Mickey sits atop one of the barstools as he gives Kevin some sort of half greeting containing a flare only he has – part grumpy, part amiable.  It’s that certain je ne sais quoi that Ian knows was customized specifically for the Southside boy.  He smiles at the thought, casting his eyes down at the wooden table as if someone will see him blushing. 

“Can I get ya a drink?” a voice asks from above him.  Ian looks up, feeling almost panicked, but calms when he sees that it’s Kevin.  He doesn’t say anything right away, earning a confused but endearing look from the owner, and Ian’s sure he looks extra questionable with his hoodie drawstring pulled so tight.  “You wanna loosen that up there?” Kevin asks smiling.  Taking his advice, Ian does so, removing the hoodie slowly, a delicate process for him it seems, before it’s fully off.  Kevin’s eyes slightly widen, then return to normal.  Ian’s not surprised, because although his light isn’t noticeable now, Angels always look extra exquisite to the human eye initially.  “Now that you can breathe and think straight without that thing on, drink?”

Ian has to think for a moment, because he’s never tasted alcohol.  He’s always heard Philip tell him stories about Angels drinking for the first time on Earth, getting drunk after only one.  They’re typically lightweights.  Deciding against it, he makes the safe decision.  “Water, thanks.”  Kevin looks suspiciously at that before nodding his head.  No one in the Southside asks for water at the Alibi – a bar for goodness sake.  The request is otherworldly.

“Sure thing red,” Kevin responds as he walks back towards the bar. 

Ian watches as Kevin goes back behind the bar, putting ice in a glass, before pouring water into it.  He’s mouthing something to Mickey, who subsequently turns in his stool to shoot Ian a not-so-subtle glance.  Kevin’s obviously talking to him about the whacky red headed kid in the corner of the bar.  Ian closes his eyes and inwardly groans, because although Mickey has no clue who he is, he now sees him.  The dark-haired boy narrows his blue eyes as he studies Ian for a brief moment, a look of familiarity washing across his face before disappearing.  The curiosity in his pale features softens before he turns back around and says something to Kevin, who in response shrugs his shoulders.

“One water,” Kevin says as he places the glass on the table.  Ian was so caught up in looking at the back of Mickey’s head, he didn’t even see Kevin walking over there.

“Thanks,” Ian says as he takes a sip.  He doesn’t get thirsty and hungry like a normal human and can go days without sustenance here, but he’s thirsty for some reason and the coolness of the liquid feels good on his tongue as it rolls to the back of his throat. 

“You know him?” Kevin asks as he watches Ian watch Mickey.

“Huh?”  Ian’s a bit startled from the question.

“Mickey,” Kevin clarifies as he points his head in Mickey’s direction.

Ian thinks for a moment, because he has to be honest.  And although he knows this will sound weird to the owner and will ultimately have him going to tell this to his assignment, Ian answers without falsehood.  “Yeah,” he finally says as he looks up at Kevin, “but he doesn’t know me.”

“Fair enough,” Kevin responds, not asking him to elaborate.  And when Ian watches him go back the bar, but sees him say nothing to Mickey, a sigh a relief washes over him.

“Thanks,” Ian says as he casts his eyes upward briefly.

 

A few hours pass as Ian remains in the Alibi, now eating peanuts and a bowl of chips Kevin brought to the table a while ago.  He revels in the salty goodness of the snacks, and it’s no wonder why hypertension is sweeping the planet.  Nevertheless, that tidbit doesn’t keep him from indulging, although he knows he’s going to pay for it when he gets back home.  The things they eat don’t contain salt, sugar and fat and all of the unhealthy ingredients that makes food down here so decadent and just down right enjoyable.  Not to say food back home isn’t good – it’s just less licentious. 

While wallowing in the shadows of the Alibi, Ian watched Mickey exchange money with the brothel clientele, get in a few heated discussions with two other men who appear to be regulars at the bar, as well as chase out a John who complained about their blow job prices being too high.  He was so entertaining to watch. 

The Mickey show was pleasant, but there was a man that made his way into the Alibi about thirty minutes ago which immediately drew Ian’s attention – and not in a good way.  He was instantly suspicious at the way the guy eyed Mickey before setting himself down in the opposite corner of the establishment.  He spoke to no one.  He ordered nothing.  He just watched Mickey, which made every synapse in Ian’s celestial brain go fire crazy as his guardian intuition kicked in. 

So when Mickey finally leaves the Alibi, Ian isn’t surprised the guy follows.  He follows the man following Mickey, the Southside sky dark now, until they end up at an abandoned building on the rooftop.  Ian prepares to break out all of his defenses as he hangs back, and waits.

////

“Alright Kev, I gotta run,” Mickey says to the owner as he nods goodbye.  “Gotta pick up something for Terry, but keep tally on the girls?”

“I’m on it,” Kevin responds as he serves up a beer to a customer, “catch ya later.”

Mickey exits the bar, and walks briskly down the sidewalk as he makes his way towards one of the abandoned buildings Terry keeps some of his drug stash.  While walking, he looks over his shoulder a few times, the heavy sense of being followed looming over his head.  He shakes the notion loose as he continues to walk, inwardly calling himself paranoid, because who would be silly enough to follow a Milkovich?

After about ten minutes, he finally ends up at the abandoned building, making his way up the steps to the rooftop.  He looks left, then looks right, making sure the coast is clear.  There’s no telling who may be up here one night, but he reminds himself he’s always ready for that day as he runs his fingertips over the cold metal of the gun handle in his pocket.  He walks over to one of the rooftop corners near a wall, and bends down, removing a few bricks at the bottom before reaching his hand inside, pulling out a five large bricks of cocaine. 

“Perfect timing,” a voice says from behind him.  Mickey jumps to his feet and turns around, his gun already drawn.  It was a man, about Terry’s age, with brown hair on the way to balding and a scar that ran from his right eyebrow all the way to his chin.  “Gimme the merchandise.  Terry’s sadly mistaken if he thinks he’s gonna try and take over my territory.”  A drug riff.  Go figure.

Mickey shakes his head from side to side, keeping his pointer finger firmly planted on the trigger.  “You’re gonna have to take it from me,” Mickey counters.  It may be a stupid move resisting this guy, but he knows the fate awaiting him if he goes home empty handed to his father will be far worse than anything this guy can do to him.  He’s a goner either way.  “Or you can just do yourself a favor, and get the fuck on,” Mickey continues as he begins to back away from the man slowly.

“Uh uh Milkovich,” the guy says as he follows, “not gonna happen.  Give up the goods!”

Both of them remain firm, refusing to budge on their stance.  Mickey has his gun pointed, and the mystery guy now has his drawn, seemingly willing to use it.  Their waltz across the rooftop resembles a dance of deadly proportions, which brings them too close to the edge of the building.  They finally still themselves and stare at each other, next moves working in their minds.  Before further words are spoken, they charge at one another, knowing that if they didn’t do so, the other would have either pulled the trigger or made the first move.

The clashing of their bodies makes an almost thunderous boom.  Mickey drops the bricks out of his grasp as he lands on top of the guy, wasting no time to put his fist in his face repeatedly.  A satisfying crunch resounds under his knuckles as _FUCK_ comes down one precise time into the man’s nose.  But before he can land another a jab to his throat sends him backwards, gasping for air.  He lands at the edge of the rooftop, and before he can move himself, the man jumps on him and they start to scrap again.  Eventually, Mickey’s being choked, but that doesn’t stop him from fighting back.

“Just give up Milkovich,” the man says angrily, blood dripping from his broken nose, “and I’ll let you walk.”

“Gonna have to push me off of this fuckin’ building!” Mickey yells.  And it’s truly a mistake saying this.

“Fair enough.”  And he takes Mickey up on his offer, landing a few punches before pushing him right off of the roof.

The building is tall and the fall is going to be long.  Mickey yells as he rapidly descends, already certain he’s going to do it this time – actually die.  There’s no weird fluke to save him now.  He closes his eyes and prepares to meet the pending blackness, but _something_ grabs him around his chest, and suddenly he’s moving _up_.  The sensation changes as he feels himself ascending, the way the motion is happening in waves starting to freak him out more than being pushed off of a building.  Hands grip him around his waist, and the feel of a chest in his back sends a weird sensation down Mickey’s spine. 

But what causes him to panic is when he takes it upon himself to finally open his eyes and look over his shoulder.  “What the fuck!” he yells as he takes in the sight of green eyes, red hair.

_And wings._

////

Ian’s practically on his tippy toes, leaning forward, preparing for the worst.  Mickey’s in a scrap now, and based off of the many he’s had before, he knows they usually don’t end well.  He narrows his eyes on the fiasco taking place, and in the blink of an eye, Mickey’s going overboard. 

He’s been pushed off of the roof.

Practically moving at the speed of sound, Ian sprints forward, passing the mystery man who’s already hightailing it for the exit.  He doesn’t worry about being seen because this time, he’s moving at the proper speed and knows the man probably doesn’t see him.  So without thinking, Ian jumps off of the roof, swooping down underneath Mickey and catches him before impact.  His wings do their job and immediately emerge, breaking the fall as they now have him and Mickey soaring towards the sky.

“What the fuck!” Mickey yells as he looks up at Ian.  “The hell is this?!  Put me down!”

Obliging, and not wanting to be seen by anyone, Ian lands on a street with mostly abandoned houses and places Mickey down on the ground.  Just as the dark-haired boy moves away from him, the wings in Ian’s back begin to retreat back into hiding.  A hybrid look of sheer horror and astonishment paints itself on Mickey’s face, before something resembling nausea.  Ian won’t be surprised if he suddenly pukes up his insides – it’s a common human reaction.  But Mickey seemingly pulls himself together.  It however only lasts a second.

“Holy fucking shit!” Mickey starts as he begins to back away slowly with his hands stretched out as if bracing himself.  “Y-you have or had wings!  Fucking wings!”  His blue eyes are wide and looking around wildly.

“Don’t be afraid Mickey,” Ian says calmly, “I won’t hurt you.”

“Like hell you won’t!”

Ian smiles, because Mickey is really freaked out and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen him this scared.  “Look, that thing I did back there,” he says as he moves towards Mickey, “it was called saving your life.  If I wanted to hurt you, I would’ve dropped you.”

Mickey flinches as he takes a step backward for every step Ian takes forward.  He scans his eyes nervously over Ian, before locking his eyes onto the angel’s.  There a sense of calm that suddenly comes over him as he looks into his eyes.  He has to look away when he feels it starts to become more than that.  “You were flying,” he finally says, his voice a bit shaky.  And he’s honestly not sure if the quivering of his voice is from nearly dying, or being saved by – whatever this guy was.

“Yeah, I was,” Ian responds.

“What are you?”  Mickey seems a bit calmer now, and Ian’s certain his eyes have done the trick.  It’s only a temporary stifling, but it should be enough for him to explain.

“I’m Ian, your Guardian Angel.”

Mickey blinks frantically before looking intently at Ian’s red hair.  “You were what interfered the bullet last night?  I recognize, well, your hair.”

“Guilty,” Ian says as he smiles.  He takes two steps forward, this time Mickey not flinching nervously.  It seems he’s absorbing the information well, but Ian soon finds out he’s wrong when Mickey begins laughing maniacally. 

“Bullshit!  Guardian Angel?” Mickey mocks.  “There’s no such thing, and besides, wouldn’t you be all bright and in a robe or something, or not be seen at all?”

“Guardian Angels look like normal humans, for the most part,” Ian explains.  “Sure, we’re a bit bright on the first day here, but it fades and we look just like everyone else.”

“You are not my Guardian Angel.  Angels aren’t real – at least I think.”

“But I’m standing right here,” Ian offers, “and I know almost everything about you Mickey – have saved you more times than you know.”

“Have you now?  And you know everything about me?  Shit, my family can’t even say that.  Tell me something you know about me that no one else would know,” Mickey challenges.

Ian squints his eyes as if thinking, before he starts to talk.  He’s already been exposed to his assignment, so why not just go the extra mile?  “You have a scar on the inside of your right thigh that no one knows about.”  Mickey gets extra quiet as he thinks about whether or not to respond to that. He instead allows Ian to keep talking, because it could be just a lucky guess.  “You got it when you were twelve,” Ian continues, “Your father burned you with a cigar when you didn’t wake up from him calling you to get up one morning.”

Mickey’s body does his slumping thing when tension escapes his muscles and he’s resigned to something.  And in this case – he’s beginning to resign to the fact that Ian may be something pretty damn close to what’s he’s claiming.  It’s customary for all Milkovich children to be strong and secretive, even when abuse ensues and they get hurt.  No one is even aware of this incident.  No one. 

“I’ve never told that to anyone,” Mickey finally responds.  “My dad doesn’t even know it left a scar, and the bastard’s the one who caused it.”  Ian moves a little closer again, his hands suddenly twitching to reach up and caress his assignment’s face.  He refrains from doing so, knowing exactly what his touch could potentially do, and also after seeing Mickey flinch again.

“Look, I don’t want to keep startling you, so I’ll go now,” Ian says as he turns and begins to walk away.  He doesn’t see Mickey chewing his bottom lip as he shifts his weight from one leg to the next, seemingly trying to make up his mind about something.

“Wait!” Mickey calls out to Ian.  And quite frankly, he doesn’t know what he’s doing, because he’s still scared shitless, but he also can’t help but feel that there is something so majestic and magical about this red headed, supposed Angel. 

Ian turns around, an inquisitive look on his face.  “Yeah?”

“Look, let me at least thank you for saving my life or whatever,” Mickey says tentatively.  “You like beer?”  Shit, can you even eat and drink?”

“I can,” Ian smiles.  “But I don’t think I should be drinking alcohol.”

“A beer won’t kill ya,” Mickey says as he turns around and begins to walk away briskly.  He turns around when he realizes Ian isn’t following, and huffs out, “You comin’ or what?”

Ian knows he should be getting back to his room way the hell in the cracks of the Southside, yet he ignores his head and follows that elusive, intricate vessel, and as a result, follows Mickey.

////

They end up at the Milkovich household, which confuses Ian.  He could’ve sworn they would have just gone back to the Alibi.  He stops outside of the gate as Mickey jogs up the steps and turns around to see him looking out of place. 

“Didn’t know we were coming to your house,” Ian says somewhat hesitant.  “I thought we were going back to the Alibi Room.”

“You serious?” Mickey snorts, “I can’t go back there, at least not until this thing that happened to me gets squared away and blows over.  I can’t be seen right now.”  Mickey makes a good argument there, so Ian finally acquiesces, and makes his way up the steps. 

The Milkovich house is exactly what Ian expects.  It’s dim and grim and the air is heavy with a sorrow that’s been rooted there.  He follows Mickey to the kitchen and sits at the table.  There seems to be no one home yet.  He watches as Mickey opens the refrigerator and pulls out two beers before walking to the table and setting them down.  One is slid over to Ian, but he only looks at the bottle as if it’s a foreign object.

“What?  You don’t want it?” Mickey asks, taking in the way Ian’s brows are knitted and his hands are unmoved.

“I’m fine,” Ian responds as he reluctantly grabs up the bottle and begins trying to twist the top off.  A huge snort escapes Mickey’s mouth as he slides some metal tool across the table.

“You need a bottle opener for that.”

“Right,” Ian responds as he picks it up and clumsily starts trying to open the bottle.  He’s focusing on his hands and the way they’re not doing what he needs them to – he has no clue how to use this thing.  He could probably shatter the bottle with one squeeze, yet he can’t use something as simple as a bottle opener.  Before he can look up and say he wants water instead, Mickey’s hand slides over his and steadies it.  He’s standing over Ian as he holds the bottle still with his other hand.  He then maneuvers Ian’s hand in such a way that positions the bottle opener just right, subsequently getting the beer open.

“Don’t do this often, do you?” Mickey asks as he makes his way back to his seat.

Ian’s head is in a cloud of sensations, the way Mickey’s hand felt over his making it hard to think straight.  He gathers himself, and finally musters out a quiet, “No.”

Mickey smiles into his beer as he takes a sip, Ian following suit and doing the same.  A grimace crosses the red head’s face after the first sip and he has to fight back a serious gag reflex.  He’s this close to spraying Mickey with beer.  “Don’t like it?” Mickey asks Ian, obviously seeing the look on his face.

“It’s…different,” Ian manages to say.  Mickey shakes his head from side to side, amused that this person or angel that just saved him from splattering on the pavement is struggling with something as simple as a beer.  He can fly for Christ’s sake.

No further words are exchanged between the two, only stares.  Mickey still has a slight smile on his face from how Ian is struggling to pretend he likes what he’s drinking.  They sit in silence for a few minutes, both with so much to say, but not knowing how to articulate anything.  The last hour has been one hell of a ride, Mickey still struggling to wrap his head around whether or not this is actually happening or just a vivid dream.  Ian’s just clinging tightly to the hope that the guy sitting across the table from him won’t get freaked out again and kick him out because his presence strikes up something in him he knows but can’t explain.  He wants to keep it between his fingertips as long as he can.

The front door slams just as Ian notices Mickey fix his mouth to say something.  Slight panic crosses his face, and it’s obvious it’s stemming from the fear that Terry just got home.  Instead, a thin female with hair just as black as Mickey’s and eyes just as blue enters the kitchen, the light frown on her face almost identical to the one he was sporting earlier.  Ian figures this must be his sister and the natural glower must be a familial trait.  Mickey’s shoulders slump in obvious relief just as the girl turns and looks the red head up and down.

“Who the hell are you?” she asks in a not-so-friendly tone.  Ian wants to smile as a reflex because she’s just as adorable as Mickey despite her being instinctively crude.  She’s unpolished, yet beautiful at the same time and Ian feels his heart beat for her already.  If he was human and from the area, he could see them as best friends, easily.

“Hi to you too bitch,” Mickey cuts in before Ian can respond.  “Way to talk to my guest.”

Mandy scowls at Mickey, ignoring his remark before turning back to Ian.  “Like I said,” she continues, “who are you?”

“I’m Ian.”

“And how do you know my shithead brother?”

“He’s a friend,” Mickey interjects again, “anything else you wanna know?”  His warning is clear.

Mandy thinks for a minute as she studies Ian’s face.  Her eyes lock onto his, and suddenly her grimace changes into a pleasant smile.  “No, I’m fine.  Nice to meet you Ian.  I’m Mandy, this idiot’s sister.”

“I figured that,” Ian smiles as he extends his hand.  Mandy shakes it gingerly, her smile widening which is then followed by a few coy giggles.

“Are you fuckin’ giggling?” Mickey scoffs.

“No asswipe,” she bites, her smile going back to a scowl just like that.  “But your friend here is quite charming,” she says as she looks back at Ian.

She stands in the middle of the kitchen floor, still looking at him like a smitten schoolgirl.  Mickey inwardly groans, because he knows how his sister can be around good looking guys.  And Mickey must admit – Ian is quite the looker.  And he isn’t just normal good looking.  He’s this off the charts, majestic handsome that seems unnatural and magnetic.  His red hair has this golden glow to it, his green eyes almost too bright and his slightly freckled skin resembles porcelain.  He’s a fucking Adonis.  It’s imposing and it’s making Mickey start to feel as if those feelings he keeps hidden won’t be for long around this guy. 

Now both him and Mandy are looking, and everything is awkward.

Mickey snaps out of it first, shooting his sister a death glare.  “You mind?” he bites.

Finally coming back down to Earth, Mandy narrows her eyes on her brother.  “Fine, I’m going,” she says as she goes to the fridge and grabs her own beer.  “Later losers,” she says as she saunters out, but not before shooting Ian a wink.

“She’s nice,” Ian says as he looks back at Mickey.  The dark-haired boy frowns in response, clearly not agreeing.

“Yeah, that’s because you don’t live with her.”

“No I can see it.”  She has a good heart.”  Ian smiles wide after that, and Mickey feels himself melting into his seat.

“So what, can Angels like, see people’s hearts?” Mickey asks, and he can’t believe he just said that.  He’s clearly beginning to believe everything that’s going on.

“Not literally see,” Ian offers as he takes another sip of the beer, already getting used to it, “more like sense.”

“Sense huh?  You got powers or some shit?” Mickey asks as he raises a brow.  If this kid is who he says he is, he figures he can do something sick, like move things with his eyes.  He did block a bullet after all, and sprouted wings out of his back.

“Only for when I need them.  They’re not for show.”  Mickey rolls his eyes at that.  Ian smirks at him – challenge accepted.  He can’t use any of his powers for show, but there is one thing he can do.  “Give me your hand,” Ian says.

Mickey looks hesitant at first, but one look into those bright green eyes, and he easily places his hand into Ian’s.  His fingers curl over the top of his hand, obscuring the inked letters.  His hand is freakishly warm and soft, and emits something that feels like waves of energy.  Ian smiles with his eyes at Mickey before focusing them on their hands and the way they seem to fit together perfectly.  After a few seconds, Ian’s fingertips light up to a bright white, which scares the shit out of Mickey, but he’s too captivated to move.  The white light then leaves the red head’s fingertips and jumps into Mickey’s hand, traveling up his arm before disappearing.

A warm, calming sensation fills Mickey’s entire body, and for a moment he feels as if he’s floating.  “The hell was that?” he asks after finally coming down.

“Just a piece of my light,” Ian says, his face slightly flushed.  “Something that’s plagued you before, it won’t now.  I just won’t know what it is, but you will.”

“Is it like, a healing?”

“Not necessarily,” Ian says as he leans back into the chair a little more.  Giving a part of his light always takes something out of him, and on top of that, he’s starting to feel the effects of the beer.  “There’s only one individual with the ability to heal,” Ian says as he quickly casts his eyes upward, “what I did was more like helping.”

“What if I don’t believe in God,” Mickey says as he looks at the way Ian seems to be getting weaker.

“Well, He believes in you Mickey,” Ian says right before he closes his eyes and passes out.

He nearly falls out of the chair, but right before he hits the floor, Mickey’s already there by his side holding him up.  This time, he catches Ian.  It’s a small feat, but somehow Mickey feels it’s quite significant.  He looks over Ian’s face as he falls deeper into some sort of slumber.  Tiny white lights begin to flicker behind his eyelids, and it startles Mickey, yet he can’t look away.  He has no clue what is happening, but the least he can do is keep him safe while he’s out.

He manages to get the lanky red head over his shoulder and carries him to his bedroom.  He places him on his bed, removes the hoodie and boots so he’s more comfortable.  The tiny white lights continue to flicker behind Ian’s eyelids as he watches him sleep – and it appears to be a deep sleep.  Mickey remains standing as he gazes down upon who he’s starting to accept as his Guardian Angel.  He’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and there seems to be a calmness that his presence brings.  Suddenly, the sorrow that lurks in the corners isn’t as thick, and something inside of him feels – _free_.

“Powers not for display, huh?” Mickey says silently to himself as he continues to stare down at Ian.  He calls the Angel’s comment nonsense, because even without showing them, they’ve definitely been used on him.

The power was simply in his eyes and the way they seemed to make everything feel alright.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But the most beautiful part on Mickey of all – his heart.

Ian jolts out of his sleep, and springs upward.  He springs high, and ends up landing on top of a nightstand, knocking over a lamp.  He’s perched atop the wood and crouched like a scene out of a gargoyle movie, breathing heavily as his eyes dart around an unfamiliar room.  He finally takes in the site of pale skin and dark hair pushed tight into a corner, blue eyes looking frightened and defensive at the same time.  It’s Mickey, obviously taken aback and bracing for whatever is going to happen next.

“Easy there,” Mickey says as he moves cautiously forward.  He has a towel in his hand.  Ian glances down at himself at how he’s on top of the nightstand, knees bent and his hands gripping the wood.  He must look ridiculous. 

“I’m sorry,” Ian says as he jumps down.  He glances at the now broken lamp on the floor.  “I panicked, didn’t know where I was.  I’ll replace your lamp.”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s a piece of shit just like everything else in this house,” Mickey responds as he finally sits down on the bed.  He glances over his shoulder and looks intently at Ian.  “I’ve never seen anybody jump that high in one go.”

Ian laughs at himself as he finally sits.  His smile quickly turns into a frown as the sunlight dresses Mickey’s face, bringing to light a black eye.  His lip is also scabbed over from being busted.  “What happened to your face?”

“My dad,” Mickey answers quickly.  “He found out about the drugs I lost and went ape shit.”

Ian’s jaw clenches instinctively at that, protective mode in autopilot.  “I’m sorry I wasn’t awake.  I’ll never drink again.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mickey offers, “I’m used to it.  Bastard decided to kick my ass the night before last.”

“The night before last?” Ian asks, the wheels in his head suddenly turning.  “Wait – how long was I out?”

“Three days,” Mickey says as he tosses Ian the towel.  It’s cool and damp.  “I kept you in here hidden, but I began to freak out that something was wrong and told my sister.  You were burning up and we had to keep cool towels on your forehead.  There were also these weird lights flickering behind your eyes man.” 

Ian closes his eyes, already knowing he’s in deep trouble.  “Your sister knows?”

“I had no choice, especially since your eyes were doing that weird glowing thing,” Mickey says as he stands.  “Trust me, it was a hard sell, but she decided to believe it and just go along with everything.  She’s still a bit skeptical though.”

While this news sucks, this is the least of Ian’s worries.  He’s now been on Earth five days which means his light is weakening, and is probably weaker than normal due to giving a piece of it away twice, and drinking on top of that.  Angels are lightweights.  But he didn’t expect to pass out for three days, and it was more than likely the giving away of his light that exacerbated the effects of the alcohol.  And according to Philip, beer is one of the weakest so Ian now considers himself a super lightweight.  He can definitely feel the effects of everything, his strength a little less and his body feeling a lot more human.  He has a headache, which is never a good sign, surfacing pains being the first step in a transition. 

“I have to leave soon,” Ian finally says, earning a disappointing look from Mickey.  To be on the safe side, Ian knows he’ll have to leave no later than tomorrow to have enough strength to make it back home.  He feels himself not wanting to leave, the pull stronger than ever now as he looks at the way Mickey nervously chews his bottom lip.  Ian never thought he’d even consider becoming a fallen one, the act of staying on Earth essentially a rebellious one.  Yet, here he is thinking about this very thing.

“You have to go back to where you were staying?” Mickey asks, trying to mask the fact that he really doesn’t want Ian to leave.  Christ, he’s been watching the kid sleep for three days, yet, he found himself getting closer to him in ways he wouldn’t even attempt to explain.

“No,” Ian says solemnly.  “I have to go home,” he offers as he casts his eyes upwards, also pointing there.  “I can only stay on Earth for seven days before I become fully human and can never go back.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Mickey lets slip.  Before he can dress up what he said and disguise it as something else, Ian grabs his hand across the bed and gently squeezes it.  The gesture catches him off guard, but he allows it to happen, giving up questioning anything this guy makes him feel.

Ian smiles and releases Mickey’s hand.  “I actually don’t know how to answer that Mick,” he responds.  “It’s different for different angels I guess.  But if it is a bad thing, I can say with confidence that the reason to turn for some is good, so good it inevitably cancels out the bad.”

Mickey doesn’t need Ian to elaborate to know what he means.  It’s apparent angels can fall, not just from the sky, but for a human as well.  And Ian speaks like he knows someone it’s already happened to.  Whether it’s him or another angel, he can’t be so sure.  He decides not to focus on that too much, instead asking the question that matters.  “How long?”

“Tomorrow,” Ian offers, “to be safe.”

“Tomorrow huh?”

“I technically have until the day after tomorrow, but I can already feel it happening.”  Ian then massages his shoulders blades, a light burning taking place there, and it’s then he knows his wings are also getting weaker.  “It’s happening so fast.”

“Tell me about it,” Mickey says.  Ian grows quiet, not needing to ask Mickey what it is that’s happening so fast for him. 

He already knows what.

////

Going back to his motel room at this point in the journey isn’t even an option, so Ian decides to spend his last day with the ‘Milkovich twins’ – his new nickname for Mickey and Mandy.  Despite them being two years apart, they’re so similar it’s scary.  Mandy’s pretty much a thinner, prettier version of Mickey with long black hair.  Not that Mickey isn’t a good looking guy, because he is.  And over the course of the day, as the sun leaves its place in the sky, making way for the moon, Ian notices subtleties on Mickey that makes him far more beautiful than he initially thought.  His eyes are like the ocean, his lips perfect and full.

But the most beautiful part on Mickey of all – his heart.

Mickey’s quite brutish, really rough around the edges, but Ian knows it’s merely a defense mechanism from growing up in a neglectful and abusive home.  It’s his protection when he isn’t there.  But underneath the hard layers and at his very core, is probably the biggest beating heart he’s ever sensed.  It’s apparent in the way Mickey pays extra close attention to him when he starts to get feverish again, placing a cool towel on his forehead, or when his mouth gets dry and a glass of water is given to him without asking.  The human transition is known to be a difficult process and it makes you sickly at first.  However, with Mickey, it’s bearable and Ian finds himself thinking maybe staying wouldn’t be such a bad idea.  But he knows it won’t happen.  Nevertheless, he marvels at how mankind can be just as majestic as angels, and it’s seen through the little gestures of one Southside thug.

Ian could complain about the multiple times he has to come down here all he wants, and still it wouldn’t be nearly enough.

After spending a majority of the evening watching movies starring either a guy named Jean Claude Van Damme or one named Steven Seagal, they argue for a good fifteen minutes over who’s better.  Ian finds himself partial to Van Damme, but Mickey disputes this heartily, claiming Seagal could beat his ass any day.  Apparently, there’s more power in a ponytail than Ian realized.  Ian laughs loudly at the way Mickey raises his eyebrows to the heavens when he’s making a point, which wakes Mandy who was counting sheep on the couch.

“Could you be any louder?” she groans as she gets up and stretches.  “I’m going to bed,” she says groggily as she looks over at Ian.  An endearing look comes over her as she bends and plants a kiss on his cheek.  While all of this is still a hard pill for her to swallow, she can already see Ian means something and knows he’ll be gone tomorrow.  “See you again?” she asks softly, knowing this could be the last time she ever sees him.

“Sooner than you know,” Ian responds.  He watches as Mandy walks to her room, playfully shoving Mickey’s shoulder along the way.  “Your sister’s awesome,” Ian smiles.

“She has her moments I guess.”

“Too bad I couldn’t meet your brothers.”

“Trust me, you’re not missing anything,” Mickey says so matter of fact.  He suddenly realizes how glad he is that they are gone on a run with Terry for a few days.

Ian chuckles softly before looking over at Mickey, his facial expression turning serious.  “Mickey,” he says lowly.

“Yeah?”

“It’s time,” Ian says.  Mickey’s face falls, already knowing what Ian is alluding to.

“I thought you said tomorrow.”  The disappointment in his voice is clear.  It’s baffling to him how he feels so close to someone he’s barely known for five days.  It’s a scary thought – but Mickey now realizes he’s developed feelings for Ian.  And it happened so fast.

“I do have until then,” Ian says as he leans forward, “but I can feel things getting more rapid.  I need to go back now before my light expires completely.” 

“Can I see you off?” Mickey ask, his voice almost childlike.

“I was hoping you’d ask,” Ian says as he smiles, once again grabbing Mickey’s hand.  This time, he doesn’t let it go for a long time.

////

Mickey borrows Iggy’s beat up Chevy to drive to a park that sits on the bank of Lake Michigan.  Ian’s too tired to walk and needs to save every ounce of energy he has for his trip back.  He instructed Mickey that he needs to depart out of water in order to get back home.  He’s confused by this, but he drives them to a secluded area of the park.  It’s really late so there will be no one around when they get there, except for maybe the occasional homeless person.  But they’re probably in a drunken stupor by now.

They drive in silence the entire trip there, Ian ever so often falling asleep for minutes at a time, those flickering white lights dancing behind his eyelids.  Mickey nearly panics every time, but gains control of himself when those green eyes open and silenty communicate to him that he’s ok.  He’s not one for affection, but he could care less that he placed his hand over Ian’s when he started driving, not removing it once.

After a while, they arrive at the park, Mickey helping Ian to a bench first.  Ian slowly begins to remove his hoodie, followed by his shirt and boots.  He keeps on only the jeans, and Mickey would be lying if he said he didn’t gasp at the site of Ian’s sculpted body – a true work of art.  He looks up and catches a knowing smile on Ian’s face.  He’s completely embarrassed, but before he can justify his wandering eyes. Ian speaks right over him.

“No need to be embarrassed,” Ian says, his weak smile still just as powerful.

Mickey hasn’t told Ian that he’s gay, but it wouldn’t shock him if he already knew.  It’s something he doesn’t go broadcasting, simply to stay alive.  He’s ashamed of it and always kept the feeling locked way down deep inside of him, so deep to the point he himself couldn’t find it.  Ian’s presence these past few days however, awakened the dormant things inside of him, and for a reason unknown, he was ok with that.  There’s a sudden need to verbally confess this to Ian, and Mickey allows himself to speak on the one secret that would be sure to kill him back home.

“I have these, feelings…” Mickey trails off, looking away from Ian.  “They’ve always been inside me and I’m ashamed of them sometimes.  And I – “

“You’re so much better than you know,” Ian cuts him off.  Mickey stares back at Ian, his eyes wide and expectant.  Better is something he’s never seen himself to be.  Ian picks up on the uncertainty and lifts his hand.  “You feel that?” he asks Mickey as he places his hand directly over his heart.

“Feel what?” Mickey asks, and to be honest, he couldn’t pinpoint it if he tried.  There’s so many emotions flowing through him at this moment and the feel of Ian’s hand on his chest isn’t helping.

“Acceptance,” Ian says as he slowly removes his hand.  “I didn’t know what I was giving you before when I gave you a piece of my light in the kitchen, but I see it now.  I was giving you the ability to accept who you are.”

Mickey’s moving closer to Ian before he realizes it.  His face is inches from Ian’s, but he suddenly pulls back when he catches himself actually trying to kiss the guy.  Dumb move.  “I’m sorry,” Mickey apologizes as he widens the distance and looks towards the water.  Drowning himself feels like a better option than looking at Ian right now.  How silly of him to think he could actually plant one on him.  And it’s probably an abomination where he’s from to even do something like this.

“For what?” Ian asks.  Mickey turns to look at his guardian, confused.  He opens his mouth to respond, but before he can say anything, Ian closes the distance between them and kisses him.  He swallows Mickey’s words, wanting to take as much of him with him as possible.  The kiss is passionate and reassuring and it gives Mickey the courage he needs.  Suddenly, he wants to keep Ian here until he’s human so he can stay with him.

Ian finally pulls away and smiles that smile again, a stunned look clearly on Mickey’s face.  “I thought something like that would be against the rules,” Mickey says bashfully.  His cheeks are flush and he finds himself feeling like a boy with a crush.  He knows it’s deeper than that.

“Against the rules?”

“Yeah, I know people who believe in all of this think it’s wrong to be – “

“Who you are?” Ian cuts Mickey off.  “Look, if it makes you feel any better, your feelings are no different than mine.  Besides Mickey, God loves us all as we are, and we’re made in His image.”

He kisses Mickey again before pulling away and stands to his feet.  He gets dizzy for a second before regaining his balance.  He stretches out his hand and motions for Mickey to take his hand, who doesn’t hesitate.  They walk to the fence separating the park from the water, Mickey hoisting Ian up over it before jumping it himself.  Once the reach the edge, Ian turns around and hugs Mickey.  The contact catches him off guard, but he allows it to happen and leans into the embrace.

“Will I see you again?” Mickey asks into Ian’s collarbone.

“Definitely,” Ian says as he breaks the embrace.  He traces the bruise underneath Mickey’s blackened eye, the pull suddenly becoming unbearable.

“Thank you,” Mickey says to Ian, not wanting to say goodbye.

“For?  I was just doing what I’m called to do.”

“For this,” Mickey answers, not really knowing what to call it.  “I wish I knew what to call this.”

Ian smiles this time with his eyes, before backing away slowly.  He looks over his shoulder before making his way into the water.  “Call it magic,” he offers before stepping into the water.

He turns and goes further into the water until he’s about waist deep.  He looks up towards the sky, and within the blink of an eye, his body begins to light up from the inside, illuminating the water around him.  One hand is lifted towards the sky, and a beam of light is shot out of Ian’s hand.  It’s a call signal.  Mickey watches in awe at what’s taking place, his eyes growing to saucers when Ian’s wings emerge from his back.  They’re massive and white, the feathers having a pearl-like glow.  The red head looks over his shoulder one last time, before a beam of light cracks the sky and surrounds him.  The water parts around him, splashing back down in large waves as he lifts up.

And just like that, Ian shoots up into the sky and disappears.

Mickey doesn’t realize he’s sunk into the ground until he’s bringing his knees in close to his chest.  It’s weird, because he doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry.  Instead, he places on hand in the grass next to him and breathes deeply as he buries his face into his knees.  He feels something soft land on his hand, and looks to see what it is.  It’s a single, white feather.  It’s a message that despite being physically gone, he’ll always be by Mickey’s side.

It’s Ian – his Guardian Angel.

////

“I almost thought we lost you for sure this time,” Lip says sarcastically as he looks at Ian lying flat on his back in the grass.  His green eyes are fixed on the sun, moon and stars, as he seemingly daydreams about something, or _someone_.  He’s running his fingers up and down his wings aimlessly.

“Not now Lip,” Ian huffs.  He’s been a brooding mess since he’s been home.

“I’m serious bro,” Lip says as he plants himself in the plush, blue-green grass next to Ian.  “We all thought you were a goner.”

Ian finally sits up and looks at Lip, a sadness in his face.  “Me too,” he says honestly. 

“Look on the bright side,” Lip continues, “Mickey seems to always need you so you’ll be going back before you know it, so don’t worry.”  He stands and pats his younger brother on the back before making his way off to a pick-up game of Angels and Demons.  Ian hates that game.  “But if I were you,” Lip says as he looks over his shoulder, “I’d remain more inconspicuous and keep my distance as much as possible.  The pull can become impossible to fight sometimes.”

Ian rolls his eyes and lays back down, spreading himself out in the grass as he fixes his eyes back on the sky above.  In all honestly, it’s not how soon he’ll be going back to Earth that worries him, and Ian knows he will eventually.  It’s the chance of not returning home that scares him.

But as he thinks of Mickey, he’s ok with that possibility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing this short multi-chapter in between working on others for the past week. I tried to ignore the idea, but ultimately couldn't. This last chapter is fairly unedited, so if I catch anything needing fixing, I'll do so. Other songs that inspired this fic - "Angel" by Jimi Hendrix, "May This Be Love" by Jimi Hendrix and "By Your Side" by Sade. The original title was actually from the Hendrix song "Angel" but after writing one of the paragraphs in this last chapter, I actually went with "Call It Magic." It felt better. I hope you guys enjoyed yet another random splurge of my overactive mind. I'm sure there will be others. :)))
> 
> Come follow me at penprowess.tumblr.com and say hi! <3


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